


Once More, With Feeling

by Ortolan (toomuchrootbeer)



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Dark Will, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Misunderstandings, Murder Husbands, Oral Sex, Pining, Shower Sex, Stupid Boys, sad cannibal
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-27
Updated: 2017-01-29
Packaged: 2018-07-10 15:02:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6990184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toomuchrootbeer/pseuds/Ortolan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will and Hannibal kill and eat and fuck. But they do not love each other. At least, that’s what they say.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

This is the third time Hannibal finds himself nestled between Will’s thighs, the taught muscles quivering as he swallows him to the root. He lets out a soft hum around Will’s dick, scratching a few fingers through the dark thatch of pubic hair around his balls.

Hannibal feels a hand on the side of his face, trailing higher until it’s tugging at his hair. He opens his eyes and peeks up at Will. His lips are red and swollen and so terribly inviting. Every molecule of his body is buzzing and Hannibal is taken with the sudden desire to kiss away the gasp perched on the tip of Will’s tongue. The fingers in his hair twist, as if Will can read his thoughts. His candy pink tongue darts out for a fraction of a second to wet his plush lips, eyes closed tight in pleasure. But it isn’t Hannibal who sucked bruising kisses into Will’s lips, turning them an inviting pink, it was Will’s own teeth. Because Hannibal is not allowed to kiss. Because Hannibal and Will do not kiss. Ever.

The first time, Hannibal had tried to place kiss after kiss on Will, only to have him turn away or shove him off with an annoyed grunt. He persisted the second time but was turned away with a glare and a toothy snarl.

It’s not that Will objects to Hannibal’s mouth. That much is obvious given the fact that his dick is currently halfway down Hannibal’s throat, and his fingers are serving to urge more inside. But it seems that Will is rather against Hannibal’s mouth going anywhere other than between his legs. He has tried to kiss other places; his forehead, his neck, his knuckles, his stomach. Anywhere else gets him a reward of seemingly randomly placed slaps and protests.

So kisses are off-limits.

Hannibal is allowed to do other things, though. Like touch Will’s sides and legs, scraping fingernails down the inside of his thighs to elicit high pitched noises from between his clenched teeth.

With a soft yelp Will abruptly sits up so Hannibal is effectively face down in his lap while Will curls around him. His knees ache on the hardwood floor, but Will’s legs wrap around Hannibal’s shoulders, pulling him closer to the edge of their bed. With a renewed fire in his belly, Hannibal surges forward, taking Will deeper, feeling the tip of his dick bump the back of his throat as Hannibal hollows out his cheeks, laving his tongue against the underside of Will. Gasps and moans tumble from Will’s swollen lips, teeth biting into them hard enough to draw blood. He reaches down, stroking himself through the thin layer of cotton confining his dick. The rest of their clothing is abandoned in a haphazard trail from the kitchen to the bedroom upstairs. Apparently Will really likes chicken piccata.

Hannibal swallows again and again around Will, feeling him pulse and his thighs tighten around his head before pushing Hannibal off with a ragged cry. He pulls back slowly, wiping drool from around his mouth. Will stays curled around Hannibal, cradling his face in his trembling hands, dick still painfully hard. His breath is ragged as he pulls Hannibal to his feet and then onto the bed above him.

Will looks even more beautiful beneath him, dark curls splayed around him on the pale red sheets. Before, the thought of prolonged eye contact would have rattled Will, but now, as he tugs down the waistband of Hannibal’s boxer-briefs, his eyes never leave Hannibal’s.  

Hannibal lowers himself until their foreheads knock together and his dick presses against the jut of Will’s hip. He twists his fingers in Will’s curls, tracing patterns into his sides. He entwines their legs and ruts against Will’s hip. Hands settle at the small of Hannibal’s back, just above his ass, and urge him forward.

Hannibal is taken with a sudden rush of lust, stroking his thumb across the scar on Will’s forehead and grinding his hips down harder and faster. He can feel his release rapidly approaching as he buries his face in the crook of Will’s neck, careful to keep his mouth tightly closed, as he nuzzles against Will and inhales his scent. He’s probably going to have beard burn on his _forehead_ tomorrow, but he really doesn’t care right now 

Will makes a high noise in the back of his throat and jerks his hips forward to give Hannibal a better angle. They rut together like animals, the same fingers that rip and tear flesh, now marring each other with bruises and scratches in a fight for release.

It is unlike any other sexual encounter Hannibal has had. More feral and raw that any of the halfhearted flings that filled out the shoulders of his person suit. This isn’t _psychiatrist Doctor Hannibal Lecter_ having an affair with a former student or museum curator. This is _Hannibal Le_ cter, serial killer and cannibal, fucking a man that filled his every thought for the three years he was incarcerated, and much of his free time before then.

Except he doesn’t just want to fuck Will. He doesn’t just want Will to warm his sheets after a hunt. He wants so much more than the occasional blowjobs and rutting like teenagers. Hannibal groans and grips one of Will’s thighs, hiking it up over his hip so he can grind down against Will’s aching cock. Their foreheads press together and Hannibal glares down at Will’s lips like they’ve personally offended him.

Even when he was having sex with Alana Bloom she let him kiss her. But not Will, he can’t kiss Will.

Will must have noticed his gaze, because he brings up a hand from Hannibal’s waist and clamps it firmly over his mouth. His strong fingers dig uncomfortably into the bone of Hannibal’s jaw, and his little finger knocks painfully against his still healing nose. He continues to squirm beneath Hannibal, seeking pressure against his straining dick, head thrown back in pleasure. Will’s palm is flush against his lips and it’s the closest thing to a kiss he has ever allowed Hannibal to give. He bites the muscle below Will’s thumb tenderly, and licks at the crease of the middle of his hand. Will makes an attempt to look pissed between ragged gasps.

When Hannibal feels the telltale tug in his lower belly he gets an idea in his head that may earn him a knife in the gut but he decides that it might be his only chance. So when Will gasps and starts rolling his hips erratically, signaling his near release, Hannibal surges forward against Will’s hand, pushing it back against his lips. Their noses brush together and it’s a mockery of a real kiss that makes Hannibal’s hear ache. He screws his eyes shut and thrusts forward again and again until his entire body tenses from head to toe, and he spills over Will’s pale stomach. He breathes hard against the hand between them, shuddering out the last of his release and repressing the urge to scream.

Somewhere in his thrusting and gasping Will had come, his orgasm leaving him boneless and glossy eyed. Hannibal expected Will to slap him or scream at him, not just lay there looking dazed. With shame heavy in his stomach, Hannibal disentangles himself from Will’s limbs, and pads to their bathroom to retrieve a washcloth. While he is cleaning the tacky cum from Will’s pale skin a hand reaches down to grip his wrist.

“I can do that myself, you know,” Will grumbles, sitting up to take the cloth from Hannibal. He unceremoniously wipes at the drying fluids, face pinched in annoyance. His skin is rubbed raw and red by the time he drops the rag onto the floor and pushes himself further up the mattress.

Hannibal climbs under the sheets, silently settling onto his side of the bed. Will is curled beneath the blankets, cocooned in blood red fabric. “Don’t do that again,” he mumbles after minutes of unbearable silence.

“Of course, Will,” Hannibal manages. The conversation is closed and he should be glad that he’s only being reprimanded with silence rather than a blade.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sex, violence, and misunderstandings ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are very quiet and look out beyond your keyboards you will see an update in it's natural habitat. So rare to fine one!

Will tugs idly at the collar of his vinyl suit, "Won't this make more noise?"

"Not in the slightest," Hannibal replies, zipping Will into the plastic covering, smoothing the lapels down before taking a step back. He gives Will a cursory once over, nothing that would make him too uncomfortable, of course. Hannibal is still very much on a short leash after the stunt he pulled last week, and he doesn't intend to repeat the days of silence and uncomfortable coexistence without touch or acknowledgement.

Slowly Will has begun to warm up to him again, sitting at the table with Hannibal for breakfast instead of retreating to their room with a cup of coffee and a pastry snagged from the tray. Hannibal hasn't actually been in the dog house, per say, considering that Sinbad, the shaggy grey mutt sleeps on the bed with Will, and Hannibal is instead relegated to the couch. Last night Will jammed his freezing cold toes under Hannibal's thighs while curled on the couch with a book. After what felt like an eternity Will had looked up and noticed Hannibal staring at him like he had hung the moon. "Will, I-" Hannibal had begun before Will closed his book with a huff of annoyance and extracted himself from the nest of blankets he had been collecting, and headed towards his room. The door remained firmly closed for the rest of the night.

"It feels like I'm wearing an overly expensive rain jacket," Will mutters before heading towards the front door. He lingers in the doorway for a moment as Hannibal follows behind. They climb silently into the Bentley, the plastic not even squeaking against the leather seats. Stars twinkling above, they speed down the winding roads of Tuscany with the warm summer air blowing Will's hair back in a tangle of dark curls.

They arrive at a small yellow villa perched on the side of a hill, over looking a vineyard overflowing with grapes. The front door is unlocked and they meander through the entryway with ease, reaching the master bedroom with no trouble at all. Large french doors stand open, the cool breeze making the long curtains billow seamlessly, like waves beating against the beach. In the bed, Giacomo DeRicci slumbers quietly, one arm thrown across the down pillows, the other hidden beneath the hand crafted quilt.

Will lingers in the door way, watching as Hannibal unceremoniously pulls back the sheet and grips the man by the back of his nightshirt. He yanks Giacomo from the sheets, depositing him onto the cool tile with practiced ease. The man gives a yelp as he is jerked from sleep, barley stopping his head from colliding with the floor with an outstretched hand.

"Signor DeRicci, good evening," Hannibal smiles, hands folded neatly in front of him.

"My grandmother's jewelry is in the safe in the closet. Please, take whatever you want!" The man cries in heavily accented English, his hands tremble above his head, "Please take anything, Signor."

Hannibal tuts softly, shaking his head at the whimpering man with thinly veiled distaste. "Signor DeRicci, you must not recall us. Earlier today you refused to sell us a bottle of your finest Bâtard Montrachet, and I must say I was rather taken aback by your blatant rudeness."

The clouds of confusion darkening the man's face part when Will steps out of the shadows, arms folded across his chest, "You-" he whispers, recognition evident, "I told you, we don't serve your kind in my shop. Fucking fanook." Giacomo growls, pulling himself to his feet and jamming a finger into Will's chest.

In a flash Will has grabbed the man's wrist and is wrenching his arm up and out if it's socket, slamming Giacomo into the wall, rattling the paintings on their hooks. "Signor DeRicci, I do not think it is wise to use such language, especially around William," Hannibal intones, his voice still level while Will knocks the man's head into the plaster, blood blooming at his hairline.

"I'm not selling to fucking faggots," he grits out between clenched teeth.

He cries out again as Will yanks his head back, only to smash it sharply against the wall repeatedly. He doesn't stop until blood is flowing freely from Giacomo's nose and mouth. Will's expression of careful boredom is beginning to crumble as Giacomo lets out a wet laugh. He grins like a madman, his nose mashed into the wall, "Do you like taking his cock, huh? Are you his little bambola?"

Will lets out a sound somewhere between a roar and a cry and throws DeRicci to the ground, his head making a sickening crack as it connects with the stone floor. His neck lies at an awkward angle, clearly broken. But Will doesn't stop, instead he claws at the man's face, tearing his cheeks and lips away from their moorings. It's not words that fall from Will's lips, instead he yowls and shrieks like a wild animal. Hannibal has never heard anything more beautiful, even in the halls of Carnegie Hall. When his fingers are slick with blood, Will stands breathing heavily, chest rising and falling like great waves crashing against a cliff side.

"Will-" Hannibal reaches out to place a hand on his shoulder but it is shrugged away immediately. An odd calmness falls over them as Giacomo's blood stains the imported tile of his bedroom. For a moment it looks as though Will is going to turn on his heel and stalk back to the Bentley. Instead, he paces forward a few feet and slams his heel down into the center of the man's face. Blood jets upwards, splattering across the leg of the plastic suit in a scarlet arc.

He continues to bring his foot down again and again, his face a carefully schooled mask of indifference and the man beneath him becomes pulp. Hannibal watches as Will's foot breaks through the forehead, his shoe becoming fully engulfed in the cranium before retreating, brain matter dripping freely. Where there used to be a strong jaw and thick eyebrows is now a fleshy pile of mush, slowly leaking out of what remains of the ears.

Will is trembling like a baby fawn, blood and viscera dripping from his vinyl suit. He has never looked more beautiful than when he is covered in blood and shaking above a kill. Not even when Hannibal looks up at him from beneath his eyelashes with Will pulsing in his throat. Even when his head is thrown back in ecstasy and praise falls from his lips like water bubbling up from a spring. It is when he is still wet with blood that Hannibal realizes he loves Will Graham so terribly that it may be his downfall.

"Don't ever pretend to know what I am," Will spits the words out, and Hannibal isn't sure if they're meant for him or what remains of Giacomo DeRicci.

With a grimace, Will strides to the closet and retrieves an expensive looking button up shirt which he uses to wipe the splatter of blood that landed in a dark line across his cheek. There are still a few droplets clinging to his beard when they carefully pack away their plastic suits into bags, and drive away from the tiny yellow villa on the hill.

When they get home, Will immediately strips off his shirt, dropping it onto the back of their couch. He leaves a trail of clothes, leading to the bathroom. Hannibal hesitates in the living room until he hears the telltale spray of the shower, and steam begins billowing out of open door.

He finds Will sagging beneath the water, skin turned an angry red beneath the scalding spray, his eyes heavy as he braces himself with one hand. His eyes are closed as he tilts his head back, exposing the long column of his neck to the shower head. Will's sex lies heavy against his thigh, nestled in a mess of unkempt public hair that Hannibal aches to press his nose into and inhale.

Will gives no inclination that he has heard Hannibal enter the bathroom, he simply continues tilting himself ever so slightly to changed the angle at which the water hits his body. Hannibal carefully folds his clothes, depositing them on the counter as Will lets out a long breath. Stepping out of his underwear, Hannibal slips behind Will, reaching down to uncap the bottle of shampoo. Will gives a soft hum when he begins to massage the product into his curls, lathering carefully and gently. He tugs softly at the hairs on the nape of Will's neck, trying to ignore the growing hardness between his legs in response to the quiet moan that tumbles from Will's lips. Hannibal tilts his hips away, hiding his shameful erection, knowing full well that Will has barley expressed an interest in Hannibal beyond receiving oral sex. For the foreseeable future their activities will be limited to heated blowjobs that leave Hannibal's knees and jaw aching, not slow lovemaking in the shower.

Hannibal turns Will and begins to rinse the shampoo from his hair, watching the foam drip between his fingers in fat rivulets that traverse the length of Will's back. They are both slick with shampoo when Will tilts forward unsteadily, resting his forehead in the crook of Hannibal's neck. His breath is hot against Hannibal's skin, even in a room filled with steam. Hannibal can feel Will's heartbeat thrumming beneath his fingers as he cleans the last of the shampoo from his hair.

Suddenly, Will stills beneath his hands and looks up at his, his expression unreadable. Hannibal is suddenly aware of the fact that Will can undoubtedly feel his arousal, trapped between their bodies. Something cold curls around his stomach when he realizes Will is still flaccid and is angling his hips away from his.

Trying to hide his own shame, Hannibal reaches down to retrieve the conditioner bottle. Will had turned again so he is facing into the spray, his back to Hannibal, the muscles clearly tense. Hannibal bites his tongue as he methodically conditions Will's hair, while the other man continues his silence. Long gone are the soft appreciative sounds and moans that had echoed off the tile a few minutes ago.

As the last of the lather circles the drain, Hannibal moves to leave the shower. He is stopped by a soft touch to his shoulder, "Hannibal?"

Turning back, Will is shifting his weight from foot to foot, clearly trying not to look between Hannibal's legs. He opens his mouth a few times, trying to find words, but clearly at a loss. Instead, he reaches out and grips Hannibal's wrist, tugging him back under the rapidly cooling spray.

Hannibal can feel Will shaking minutely as he turns, bracing one hand against the shower wall. He settles his hands on Will's waist, watching as the rise and fall of his chest stutters for just a moment. There is a pregnant pause that is almost palpable as Will bends forward and spreads his legs awkwardly, pressing his cheek against the damp tile, exposing himself.

"Will, I don't-" Hannibal begins, feeling a weight settle in his gut at the sight of Will's perfectly curved buttocks and tiny pink hole. 

"Shut up," Will grunts, one hand reaching back to guide Hannibal between his thighs. He squeezes the strong muscles around Hannibal's aching dick, the slide eased by the diluted shampoo and conditioner still clinging to his skin.

"Will-"Hannibal intones, knowing that they are teetering on the precipice of something dangerous and oh so tempting.

"Just do it," Will urges, turning his head so Hannibal can see how he has bitten his lips nearly bloody.

With heat coiling in his belly, Hannibal bends forward, wrapping one hand around Will's chest, and begins to rock his hips back and forth. There is a loud squelching noise that echoes around the bathroom as Hannibal's thrust into the cradle of Will's thighs, biting back moans. The heat and pressure around his dick is unparalleled, and Hannibal knows that this is a sacrifice for Will.

Will, who until a few months ago had avoided Hannibal's touch. Who had been very decidedly heterosexual until getting drunk enough to push his dick up against Hannibal's back while he was doing the dishes. The same Will who had slapped Hannibal and glared at him for days following the kissing incident.

Letting Hannibal close enough to breathe in his scent and thrust, hot and hard between his quivering thighs. Yet again it is a mockery and a twisted version of something that Hannibal craves and aches for so deeply. To bury himself inside Will and make love to him slowly until he is a quivering mess unable to form sentences.

But this isn't slow, soft love making. This isn't delicate kisses and caresses. This is fucking. Animistic rutting as Will tugs roughly at his own dick, eyes squeezed shut. His breath is fogging the damp tile as Hannibal jerks him back and forth on his cock. Hannibal can feel Will's knuckles brushing against the head of his dick every now and then.

With a hesitant touch, Will loosens his fist and encases Hannibal's cock along with his own, slick with pre-cum. He jerks them roughly, moaning brokenly. Will turns his head just enough to catch Hannibal eye. Will's eyelids are heavy and his eyes are dark with lust.

His candy pink lips hang open, gasping for breath. Oh, how Hannibal aches to lean forward and suck searing kisses into them, to explore Will's mouth with his tongue and fingers.  Hannibal can feel his balls tightening where they slap obscenely against the globes of Will's ass. As Hannibal spills beneath Will's thighs he presses his nose into the wild nest of damp curls atop his head, "I love you, Will."

The words just slip out and Hannibal regrets them the moment they pass his lips. He can feel Will go stiff beneath him again, the same way he did when he first felt Hannibal's erection bump against his hip.

"Don't fucking say that." Will's voice is hard and distant. The words are sharp and cut Hannibal more harshly than any blade. "Don't you dare say that again, Hannibal." Will turns, shoving Hannibal off of him before taking a step back, towards the wall.

"Will please understand-" Hannibal reaches a hand out, begging Will understand that he hadn't mean to say anything, that it had all been a big mistake. They could go back to Will throwing Hannibal scraps of attention when he got horny or lonely, and Hannibal would be content with that and nothing more. "I didn't mean-"

"Don't fucking touch me!" Will swings an arm out, his fist colliding with the side of Hannibal's face with a dull thunk. He can feel that while his jaw isn't broken there could very easily been some loose teeth. Hannibal's hands clench useless at his sides as Will climbs out of the shower, nearly slipping on the wet tiles in his haste to put distance between them. He can see that Will's dick is an angry red, still hard and curving towards his stomach.

Hannibal cradles his jaw in one hand, "Will I-".

"You don't get to say that to me," Will's voice cracks as he yanks a towel off the back of the door and marches from the bathroom, leaving Hannibal to shiver beneath the long cold water.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fanook- Italian slang for a gay man  
> Bambola- Italian slang for a gay man on the receiving end, usually with feminine features


	3. Chapter 3

The door creaks open just past 3am. Clumsy foot falls clunk against the hardwood, and a muffled curse echoes down the hallway. Hannibal is lying on the couch, scratching his fingers through Plato's fur. 

Will braces himself against the doorway, swaying back and forth a bit. He fixes Hannibal with a half focused gaze and wets his lips. "I don't know what the fuck to do with you," he tilts forward, barley stopping himself from careening into the side table with a fumbled step.

Hannibal can smell the sharp tang of alcohol on Will's breath from across the room. It has been hours since he stormed off into the night, coat haphazardly wrapped around his shoulders, so really is it any surprise that Will is swaying back and forth, shooting angry looks at where his arms have become tangled in his sleeves? After a moment of hesitation Will sighs and lets his arms flop limply at his sides in defeat.

Plato's tail flops excitedly from side to side, lifting his head from Hannibal's lap. "I apologize for any transgression, Will," Hannibal murmurs, words barley audible above the sharp crackling of the fire. Will's gaze is fixed firmly on his boots, refusing to meet his eye as Hannibal stands.

The dog pads towards Will, nudging his leg with his nose. He is rewarded with an uncoordinated scratch behind the ears that ends much too soon for his liking. Plato lets out a soft whine of disappointment, but soon saunters off down the hallway towards their bedroom.  

Hannibal straightens his sweater and brushes the dog hair clinging to the fabric. He can feel the tension bleeding into the room, and he knows that he must choose his next words very carefully. "Will I-"

"Save it," Will slurs harshly, shaking his head ever so slightly. He moves towards the stairs, keeping a fair distance between himself and Hannibal. "I know you don't mean it, you know?" His eyes are hooded and his voice holds a sharp edge that slices through Hannibal's chest in an instant. "So just don't bother."

Hannibal knows he crossed a line. He knew it the moment those damned words crossed his lips. Will has every reason to be pissed at him. From the first time Hannibal wrapped his lips around Will's dick and felt calloused fingers tugging at his hair he knew that whatever feelings were boiling beneath his own calm exterior were not mirrored in the muddled darkness of Will's mind. Perhaps somewhere in a long forgotten corner of his being, Will might possess the capacity to care for a monster such as him. But if that ability existed it was either long forgotten or destroyed somewhere among the slew of blows they had dealt each other over the years. 

And the worst part is that Hannibal doesn't blame Will, not even one bit. After everything that has happened, why should he want to curl into Hannibal's arms at night? Why should he dream about being caressed by the same hands that took Abigail from him?

Abigail has lingered like an unwanted house guest in the backs of their minds ever since they broke the surface of the ocean, and took their first ragged breaths as new men, reborn in the salty spray of the Atlantic. She is the unaired laundry and unspoken words that threaten to crumble the foundations of their new life together. They have built their castle upon uneven ground.

On nights when Will is especially drunk and lies panting next to Hannibal, hair mussed and semen coating his belly, Hannibal wonders why he stays. What force keeps pulling them together? Surely it can't be the universe itself, it would be against it's best interest to have them functioning as one being. Perhaps it is something older and more archaic. Hannibal can't help but wonder if this brilliant and dangerous man next to him was made out of his own rib in some long forgotten time.

Will finally manages to shed his jacket, dropping it over the back of the brown armchair and turning to face the fireplace. He wraps his arms around himself, swaying back and forth on unsteady legs. "I thought we agreed not to lie to each other," he accuses reproachfully, turning on his heel and lurching forward, nearly colliding with Hannibal. He can feel the frustration rolling off of Will in waves as he rambles on. "It's fucked up what you're trying to do," Will jabs a finger into Hannibal's chest and fixing him with a glazed look.

Hannibal nods, holding his ground. "I know and I am sorry, Will." He meets Will's gaze, hoping to convey what he can't bring himself to put into words.  _Please don't end this don't you see that this is all I need. Nothing more. I over stepped a boundary and it won't happen again, I swear. Just please let me have this, Will._

There is a pregnant pause, air cracking with tension, and Hannibal can hear the blood rushing in his ears. He can feel Will's breath on his lips, warm and heavy and so very close. The urge to surge forward and seal their lips together is almost overwhelming, the beast within Hannibal itching to claim and mark this beautiful creature before him. He yearns to scratch and bite and worship Will, leaving blossoming bruises and suck marks on his pale skin, warning others off. Never before has the desire to posses been so urgent and powerful, and yet here he is. 

But no, this is not what Will wants. He has made that painfully clear, leaving Hannibal with enough emotional bruises to get the message across. The way he looks up at Hannibal behind his lashes is just the result of the alcohol coursing through his system. The way his fingers grip Hannibal's arms hard enough to bruise is just to steady himself, not for any sentimental reason.

If there is one thing that Hannibal will never do, it is take advantage of Will. Beautiful, intelligent Will. He would not do him the indignity of denying his choice, removing what little agency his still has beyond Hannibal's influence. They will either come together consensually or not at all, no matter how deeply his desires run.

As if by some divine intervention, just as Hannibal decides to guide Will upstairs and tuck him into bed, Will pitches forward, bridging the space between them, lips meeting sloppily. His mouth is wet and plush, beard scratching against Hannibal's cheek as two arms twine together around his neck. Will lets out a soft whine as he tugs Hannibal closer, deepening the kiss.

They come together like oil and water. Will is smooth where Hannibal is sharp, warm where Hannibal is cold, and soft where Hannibal is hard. Even though they are opposite sides of one coin they fit together like jigsaw pieces. Will gives and Hannibal takes and takes and takes. Hannibal is sure that he would drink Will's love from a pigs trough. But if only for one bright and shining moment, on a cold Thursday night in their tiny living room he allows himself to imagine that this is real. That Will is in love with him and that even after they break apart there will be a multitude of kisses to come. Hannibal can feel his heart aching and every fiber of his being is vibrating with the hums that reverberate from Will's chest. The feeling is electric and tingles from his lips to his finger tips to his toes. For a moment Hannibal is sure that the intensity of whatever emotion is curling in his chest would be enough to ignite a fire.

Will strokes his thumb along the shell of Hannibal's ear, brushing away strands of stray hair. His arms settle around Hannibal's neck, pulling the slightly taller man down enough to deepen the kiss. Their tongues slide together in a wet embrace, dragging against each other's teeth in a hungry bid for friction. 

Hannibal's mind is swimming with a mouthful of Will. And oh, how he has ached to taste him for years. Did he ever know true pleasure before this moment? Before Will was pressed to deliciously against him, willingly panting into his mouth and twisting his fingers into his hair. The gentle hint of smoke on Will's breath and the soft swaying of their bodies as their lips meet and part in desperate fits. Hannibal grips the back of Will's shirt, fisting his fingers into the fabric in some half formed attempt to anchor their bodies together. 

All the times Hannibal imagined this there were string quartets playing or birds singing. In some way the air around them had reverberated with their meeting. But instead the air is still and the world seems to become static around them. The crackling of the dying fire seems to slip away along with Plato's soft whines and the scratchiness of Will's beard against his face. The world spins to a slow halt as Hannibal's fingers dip below Will's belt, seeking the waistband of his briefs.

Will yanks his fingers from Hannibal hair with a gasp, "Don't-" he starts before being silenced by Hannibal's lips descending upon his own again. "You don't have to- I don't want you-"

"I want to, Will." Hannibal whispers against his lips, meaning every word of it. Without thinking he sinks to his knees. With deft hands Hannibal does away with Will's trousers and underwear, baring him to the warm puffs of air he breathes out. A groan slips from Will's lips, though his cock lays limp, nestled in the dark curls of his groin. But with the amount of alcohol currently rushing through his veins it's not surprising that Will is flaccid. 

A stark blush colors high on Will's cheeks as Hannibal places a kiss at the base of his cock, a small offering of atonement. As Hannibal ducks forward to slide his lips around the crown of his dick, Will pushes feebly at his shoulders. "Hannibal, I know you really don't want to do this," Will whispers brokenly.

Hannibal continues anyway, dipping his tongue into Will's slit to taste the salty musk hidden there, "You know I want to, Will."

"Hannibal!" Will yelps, pulling back sharply, cock slipping from Hannibal's lips. "I'm sorry I-," Will mumbles, shoving feebly at Hannibal's shoulders before scrubbing his sleeve over his mouth. He runs a hand through his hair and then bends to scoop up his pants that have pooled around his ankles. "I can't pretend. I can't do," he pauses, gesturing as if he can encapsulate everything that has happened in the last few months in a single hand gesture, "this anymore."

Hannibal jumps to his feet with much less grace that he would have liked, "Will you don't have to pretend, I don't need you to pretend."  _Please just let me have this. Let me have this one thing and I promise I will never ask for more ever again. Can't you see I need this?_

"Then stop mocking me!" Will bites out with more venom that Hannibal thought he was capable of. "If you're going to do one nice thing for me, don't pretend to have feelings just for my sake. But I guess we both know you're not capable of that." With a strained inhale, Will turns on his heel and wanders upstairs with uncoordinated determination.

As Hannibal listens to Will treading upstairs he can feel the warmth of the room beginning to dissipate. His socked toes curl and uncurl against the hardwood floor. His knees ache and the lingering taste of Will settles on his tongue. Hannibal reaches up and gently traces the edges of his lips, seeking the ghost of Will's lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey look who is back! I know I said this was going to be update back at the end of October but yeah University and then the Election and then my laptop broke and now we're here. Hope everyone had a fun time! Hopefully the next update won't take 6 months ;)

**Author's Note:**

> This is just something that has been knocking around my brain for a while and I had a couple of hours and violá! Let me know what you think and I'll probably continue this when I get a chance later this week. :)


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